


Unbreakable

by blacklid, tahirire



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2012-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:44:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacklid/pseuds/blacklid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tahirire/pseuds/tahirire





	1. Prologue

_Keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace; and let none give way to a prejudicing spirit, which leads into secret whisperings, backbiting, and such like evil and pernicious fruits, ... when the evil spirit prevails to draw out of Zion's gates, and out from within her walls of salvation Oh! what deplorable work and havoc will it make ... as it prevails and increases in strength, it will appear as a roaring lion, seeking whom it may devour and swallow up. 1_

**x.**

  
_The time has come,_ the Walrus said. _2_  


 

**xi.**

  
_No disrespect, but I'm not exactly a believer.  
You will be. 3_   


  


In Lawrence, Kansas, the dead center of the American Dream, in 1885 a huge oak tree springs up in a cemetery overnight. Nobody can explain it. It doesn't keep them from trying. They would have changed the name to Oak Hill Cemetery, just in case, but there is already a cemetery in town with that name.

It starts to get a reputation. Soon the whole town is convinced that every major tragedy they have faced has either happened there or happened directly because of it. Eventually, they sacrifice the tree to faith and build a church where it stood.

It doesn’t help.

Sixty-nine years later, a surveyor-in-training for a suburban housing development manages to add to his list of failures by omitting an environmentally protected, heritage oak tree from the parcel plans filed with the county appraiser’s office. Before anyone can fire him, he quits, moves to Illinois and never comes back. But that’s beside the point. Probably.

 _Unbelievable.  It’s Kansas_ , says the foreman, taking in the sight of the tree with a yellow ribbon around it, nearly enveloping the side of a two story framed house, like two skeletons side by side in the dead of winter. He removes the cigar from his mouth and points with it, _how do you miss a tree like that?_

The following spring, a young couple buys the house and moves in, ready to start a family and make a home.

They have two sons. 

  


**xii.  
**  
 _On Earth as it is in Heaven 4.  
As it is in Heaven, so it must be on Earth.5_  


  


John's eyes snap open before he even realizes that he's awake, and his heart pounds as he stares up at the ceiling. That tree is going to need trimming again. It scratches and scrapes in the blustery wind at the panes of glass and he is certain that they are going to shatter any minute from the onslaught, but as John sits up and comes around, the night is quiet. The limbs are only still threads of darkness behind the lace curtains.

Mary sleeps quietly beside him, exhausted from the stresses of dealing with a four-year old and a baby at the same time. When she's asleep, she's the most beautiful creature John has ever seen. He doesn't want to wake her.

John slips from their bed quietly and makes the rounds, checking on Dean first, then Sammy. He moves down the stairs still trying to shake away the scattered, overlaying images from his dream.

Late night TV doesn't offer much in the way of relief from war flashbacks, and he finds himself gazing through the screen instead of watching as Kirk Douglas's Colonel Dax leads his men to battle. He'd hoped the night terrors would fade. Truth was, they were never so bad after the war.

He frowns, turning the images over in his head, trying to remember. Mary - they'd started with Mary. The night her parents died. Things are still fuzzy, like important puzzle pieces are missing from ten years ago, but the nightmares kicked up then, that much is sure. Well, better him than her.

Images from the war reach out from the shadows on these kinds of nights. They wrap around his family, paint his wife with wounds a guy should only ever see in battle. John settles down into his ragged armchair and drifts back off to sleep to the staccato sound of gunfire. He isn't worried about his angels, sleeping peacefully upstairs. As long as he's around, nothing bad is going to happen to them.

**xiii.**

_I'm not unfaithful. I've never been.  
You will be. 6_

_That’ll be ten forty-one,_ a female voice says, and John looks up from thumbing the bills in his hand. Small ornaments hang from a tacky garland behind her head in red and green. He wonders how long ago those colors were chosen for this time of year - red and green - and by whom, and whether or not it even matters to anyone who isn’t in his line of work.

 _Sir_ , she says, but it doesn’t reach him. The timbre of her voice only jars the reflections, round dancing bombs of blood and splinters and broken glass. One spark and everything could go up in flames.

_Sir is that all?_

He should probably get the boys something else. God knows when he is going to make it back to Jim's and Blue Earth again and the prospect of leaving them alone through another holiday in yet another dingy motel room is creeping up on him fast. This is not his idea of a real Christmas. But this might be the hunt that puts Mary to rest and he can't go home, not until it's over.

The register rings in the silence and answers for him: _you get nothing else for your boys here_.


	2. Chapter 2

I.

_Temperance._

  


_You have to play your role, Dean_. His voice is gruff from miles of silence and his eyes have been propped open staring at the highway all night. There’s no time to argue.

_Like hell I do,_ Dean tugs his sunglasses off and blinks against the sun like someone who just woke up. But John knows better; he knows Dean has been watching.

John puts the Impala in park in a no parking zone and waits. Then he points at a man exiting a copy store and crossing the street to an ambiguous white car parked behind the building.

_Use your head. If that guy walked over here and flashed a badge at us, would you have thought he was a cop?_

_No,_ Dean says and snorts.

_Does he look like he’d be able to get to the bottom of a case like ours, save people's lives and live to tell about it, day in and day out?_

_No sir._

_Then get in there and make us some cards,_ and he hands Dean two twenties and the pictures from the mall photo booth.

  


  
_As there is Temperance, so there must be Gluttony.  
_   


  


Africa. It is a world of animals. Rivalry - fighting and killing - is a means of survival. It is the instinct of all beings to protect and lead and procreate. It is an instinct so deep that some say it cannot be overcome. It rules the pride. The strong one always kills the weak one. Always.

There are whispers in the dark. There are eyes in the reeds of the river. There is a presence everywhere. The tracks they leave are hard in the dust. No one is safe. The rumble of every approach is like rolling thunder and the ground shakes in fear because of it. How can we not shake in fear? For the Devil himself has risen and comes forth from a bright light.

Men look at lions and call them monsters and savages. As if men have any room to talk.

No one thinks they will live to see the dawn. Those who do live wish that they had not. Their lives are rent apart, and they rise up, and they hunt. 

  
_It was a story without precedent, two brothers hunting as a pair:  
one, the night had covered him, the other wasn't there._

  


In 1896, two lions stalk the desolate thorn-covered brush lands of Tsavo, killing the villagers and the workers of a newly constructed railroad. They cover the territory in a thick pall of fear. The natives believe them to be mystical beings, unnatural in the way they lair together, hunt and kill side-by-side. They are not afraid of the fires or the burning light of day.

Those who live in Tsavo proclaim the lions to be demons. They call them _the Ghost_ and _the Darkness_.

Some say they kill 135 people before they are felled by the great architect and hunter John Henry Patterson. Others say that only 35 souls are devoured; but the legends and the histories always agree on one highly unusual fact: the two lions are brothers.


	3. Chapter 3

II.

_Humility._

 

He’s too late again.

John parks a fair distance from what used to be a family’s home in New Jersey and prowls the police line, fading in and out of the crowd of men and women gathered around, voices secretive as they talk about what they think happened. He sips his coffee and watches detectives flip over tiny pile after tiny pile of burnt refuse with their pens, looking for clues. If he’s right and the lightning storm was any indication, the spark they’re looking for is long gone and headed to the next town, wherever that is.

Once they all leave and the show is over, he walks the destruction and scans the remnants with EMF for what the bastard is after. He comes up empty. There’s no one left to save. He’s going to have to get further ahead of it. Maybe he’s been following the wrong clues. 

He gets back to the truck and opens his charts, checks on the weather patterns over Oklahoma and Kansas, sees that the boys are in no danger. On his tracker, he stares pensively at Dean’s phone, still a small dot on Highway 40 outside of Topeka, and it hasn’t moved since last night. Dean had sworn that he’d never go back there. John dials his voice mail.

_Dad? I know I’ve left you messages before. I don’t even know if you get ‘em… but… I’m with Sam… and we’re in Lawrence… and there’s something in our old house. I don’t know if it’s the thing that killed Mom or not, but… I don’t know what to do. So, whatever you’re doin’, if you could get here… please. I need your help, Dad._

Sam… he’s back. It’s about time. 

John shucks his gear to the floorboard and buckles in for the long drive, and freezes. Maybe that's it… maybe it is about _time_.

  


_As there is Humility, so there must be Pride.  
_  


  


It's nearly midnight, and John Colt still can’t sleep. The air outside is restless and dry. Heat lightning flickers across the sky in muted waves. His skin crawls. He throws back the bed sheets, giving up the fight. The old wooden stairs creak in protest under his weight as he descends to the first floor. The tile of the narrow hallway is cold underneath his bare feet.

John is waiting, but he’s not sure what for. He takes a seat on the bottom step, scrubbing one hand wearily over his aching eyes, searching his memory for anything that would account for his unease. The front door’s stained glass panels flicker red and blue with each flash in the night sky, and he finds himself drifting, mesmerized by the patterns. His eyes flutter in their struggle to stay open, and he almost misses the shadow that crosses the window pane.

Before his mind registers it, his feet respond, and he has the door open before he even remembers standing up.

 _Samuel_ , he breathes, _in, come in, please_. John reaches for his brother, pulling him inside away from the electricity and anticipation of the coming storm.

Samuel’s dark eyes are wide and bright, and his breathing is heavy. He’s holding one hand close to his side, pinning his brown duster close to his chest as though he carries something he doesn’t want anyone else to see. John doesn’t have to ask; he’s seen it.

 _Sit down, please. Is everything alright? Are you hurt? Is it …?_ The questions are coming faster than his brother can answer, and Samuel just shakes his head as he takes the edge of the oak bench in the sitting room.

 _No, no._ Samuel grabs John’s hand in his, and his grip is strong. He smiles, and for a second John forgets the tension of the night around them.

 _Then what is it?_ John asks.

 _It’s Caroline_ , his brother whispers, the joy on his face sliding into fear. _She’s going to have a baby._

John’s gut tightens and he thinks of the ripples in the atmosphere outside, of the steel and wood being so carefully crafted into the weapon strapped to his brother’s left hip, of golden eyes and their three young sister’s dead bodies, one by one by one, and he closes his eyes. _Have they found out? Do they know where the gun is?_

Sam nods uncertainly. _We're being hunted. I think it’s only a matter of time._

 _Then we hunt them back. I’ll do everything I can, anything I have to._ John rises from his seat and reaches into his breast pocket for the keys to the safe.

 _No, John._ Sam lunges for his arm, and John stops and turns.

One look at Sam’s stricken face tells him what he fears most: that this won’t be the answer. They’ll keep coming. But he can’t believe it. He has to do something. _Sam, after everything you’ve done for me,_ John’s gaze falls on Sam’s jacket. _What am I supposed to do?_

_Please, John, don’t you do that._

John takes Sam’s distraught face in his hands. _I have to. I have to look out for you – it’s my job._

It is 1842 and Samuel Colt’s brother John is imprisoned for killing a man and disposing of the body in a shipping crate. John almost gets away with it, but the weather is still against them and the body is found in the waterlogged hold of a boat. John turns himself in, not wanting to sully his beloved brother’s good reputation, and in the wake of his confession, he is sentenced to death.

The night before John is to be hanged, four people come to visit him in his cell: a priest, his brother Samuel, a close friend, and a woman with child. John Colt and the woman are married, and he claims paternity of the baby in the presence of the priest.

When the guards come to take him to the gallows the following afternoon, a jailer spots a fire in the roof. The jail has no working siren and the only fire truck to respond has never been used. The black steel and steaming water glow eerie in the wake of the fire, and the people who see it forever afterwards refer to it as The Ghost.

Officials think that John Colt has merely succeeded in delaying his own death by a few hours, but when they return for him, he is already dead. There is a knife buried to the hilt in his heart. To this day no one knows how he got it.

Samuel Colt takes care of John's wife Caroline and the child, and no one ever knows the truth about the baby. Sam Colt’s bloodline continues uninterrupted, living on quietly in the house under the oak tree while John Colt’s body turns to dust in the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

  
III.

  
_Chastity.  
_   


Missouri nods slowly. She sits on the edge of the rattan chair facing John with her hands pressed between her knees. _You know,_ she says, _those boys still think of you as their superhero._

 _No, they don't,_ John drops his head _,_ fear and disappointment twisting at the metal band around his finger. _They shouldn't, and you know better than to tell me things like that._

_Well_ , and her voice ambles meekly into the depths, _I know they do. I heard it plain as day. You are, and it's a good thing, too. They're going to need their father now._

John looks at her from under his brow, stoic features cloaked in folds of hope and dread. _Tell me everything._

 _There's not much to tell that you don't already feel in your heart. You love your sons. You love your wife. She's still alive for you. She's alive in those boys._ Her head tilts to the side with a comforting expression.

It's the kind that probably works on most people when she wants them to take the good news, nod for a few moments into their glasses of sun tea, and then go on about their lives. John isn't going to be one of those people. _Missouri, I came here because I need to know what's happening to my sons. Are you going to tell me or not?_

She bows her head and thinks a minute, then she lifts it slowly. _I don't mean to be cryptic, John, but sometimes these things, they don't follow a straight line like you can draw on a map. I'll tell you what I do know._

_What's that?_

_Your heart is going to save them. Your love is what will keep them going._

_After everything I've put them through?_ John huffs, but he stops himself from saying anymore aloud. He knows he doesn't need to. Missouri can see his thoughts: his countless failures as a father, how he's never at rest except in a bottle. He glances out the window and when his eyes return to her, they're hungry. _How?_

She frowns. _I don't know. It's not clear._ She rises and turns away from him, searching the room for something that John doesn't, or can't, see. She makes it to the corner and turns, humming just under her breath like she is listening for the feeble, tinny sounds of a lost windup toy. Her hand stumbles into the curtains of the window and she stops when she looks outside.

His fingers are tingling and his chest tightens instinctively. _What is it?_

Her head is wobbling somberly. _They're a warning,_ she says, and she doesn't elaborate. She just stares out the window at the branches of the willow tree in her yard.

_What are you talking about? What warning? Is it something I can see? Can I track it? Will it help me find what did this to Mary?_

She sighs in disapproval. _So many questions, John Winchester. If I was your wife, I'd ask you where your decency got off to._

John pales. _If you could just... tell me what you mean by there, a warning, I'd appreciate the clarification,_ and he folds his hands tightly together, almost cutting off the blood circulating through his wounded palm.

_Not there, a warning, I said they are a warning._

He isn't sure whether he is supposed to respond. _What are?_

She tilts her head toward the window. _The trees._

_The trees?_

She nods.

 _All of them?_ he says carefully.

_Of course not, don't be absurd. I mean, the ones in your dreams._

_How did you know about that?_

_They are real trees, John. They exist. And one of them is in your front yard. It's watching that house._

_Okay... hang on. I'm working my way around trees are evil._

_You're not that bright, are you? The trees aren't evil. They're just the messenger. It's what brought them here..._ and she says the word _them_ like he's been on the right track. __

_So they're harbingers._

_You could say that. They're the remnants of a dream... belonging to things not of this world. Sometimes the dreams are good. Sometimes they're not._

_Could you tell from --_ John's voice cracks and he continues after a moment, forming his words deliberately -- _that tree whether or not it was the mark of the thing that murdered my Mary?_

Missouri looks far away. _One would think that it's an open and shut case, but no, it isn't what killed your wife. It was the thing that knew before you did. I wish you had come to me sooner. Perhaps I would have been able to help._

She lets go of the curtain and comes to stand in front of him, but then she stops, listening to something else. When she continues, her voice has changed. _Those dreams are here for a reason, John. If you listen to them and you're faithful to her memory, they will help you._

John makes to leave, rubbing his hands over his knees. _Thanks for your help, Missouri, but I don't put much stock in dreams._

 _Love is a dream_ , she says.

  


_As there is Chastity, so there must be Lust._  


  


They are out hunting when they are caught in it; a rare summer storm that blasts them with rain while the sun is still shining. It whips through the scrubs and kicks sand into their eyes. The roll of thunder chases them into the cave, where they re-light the fire and prepare a meal.

 _Can you believe how big it was? It was the biggest one I’ve ever seen,_ David says again after a few moments of silence.

 _I believe it was the largest lion you’ve killed because I saw it with my own eyes, and I watched you take it down with one shot and so that I also believe,_ Jonathan replies calmly.

David laughs softly. _I wouldn’t have seen it behind me, though. Thanks for being my eyes today, your highness._

 _I’m your eyes every day, sheep herder._ Jonathan smiles.

David stretches his right arm out over his knee and burns the end of a cedar branch, letting its scent fill the small cave. He thumbs the skin at his wrist where it is scarred. Jonathan’s own bears the match of it. They are brothers bound by something far stronger than blood. _Yes, we are all we have._

He watches Jonathan’s expression darken across the fire, yellow light dancing silently on his somber face. To someone who did not know him, his expression would seem poised and royal, revealing nothing of the turmoil beneath.

Breaking the silence must be done now, before he loses his nerve. David's voice matches the treble of the rain: _Our dream is ending, isn't it? You have decided. This is the last time I will ever see you._

Jonathan doesn’t speak. There is power vibrating in the very air around him, and the fervor of his heart burns in his eyes. But no words can hold the sentiment or the pain; there is only a flame burning out the center of his soul.

The dark is restless and David rises quickly, lips moving, knowing that his words are just breath and feelings and will do nothing to change his friend’s mind. _Maybe they will find a way to use us against each other, I don’t know._

Jonathan nods.

David stares into the dust rising around his feet _. Our father has not forgiven me? I am still an outcast?_

Jonathan steels himself and looks up to watch David pacing. There is no way to keep the truth from shattering them both. _Our father's fear of losing the throne is so great that it has blinded him completely. He defies anyone who would stand with you. I came to tell you that he is sending his army against you and anyone else who believes in the prophecy._

 _I don’t care about that._ David waves his hand. _All I care about is that you are safe._

There is not enough light in the cave to see Jonathan shift uneasily, but David hears it and feels it in his soul. Jonathan’s voice is deep and unconvinced. _Do you really think that I could just leave you here in this place?_

David gives the shadows a level stare, knows immediately that Jonathan is evading his question. _It’s what I want you to do. I’m your weakness and you’re mine. They are going to use that against us._

His brother’s face is years older in moments, weary with a burden of fate that he feels no choice in. _I know._ _What is it you want, David? Should we stop defending each other?_

 _No, we stop being martyrs. We stop hiding. We fight._ David turns away and reaches for his favorite armor and holds out the sword to Jonathan. Flames leap toward the blade and reflect in their eyes. _He said you might have to kill me. If we have to fight, I want you to be the one to do it._

The steel is hot. With the palms of his hands, Jonathan pushes the blade back toward his brother. It burns him, but his face can show no more pain than it does now. _I can’t. I’d rather die._

They never see each other again.

Years later, Saul is still king. His son has a son, but their bloodline is still in peril. In the battle for the kingdom, Jonathan is slain at his father’s side. Saul, despondent and bereft of hope, mourns his only son by falling on his own sword. Samuel's prophecy is fulfilled and David is made king.

Tradition demands that a new king put any heir from the previous royal family to death to protect his own bloodline. David scorns the laws of kings and honors instead the covenant he made with his brother, taking Jonathan's son into this house and raising him as his own.

David's son Solomon gains a world of knowledge but loses his own soul. After his death, the bloodline goes silent for 400 years.


	5. Crossroad

∞

_Out of the night that covers me, black as the Pit from pole to pole,  
I thank whatever gods may be for my unconquerable soul.  
In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud.  
Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed.  
Beyond this place of wrath and tears looms but the Horror of the shade,  
and yet the menace of the years finds, and shall find, me unafraid.  
It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll.  
I am the master of my fate:  
I am the captain of my soul. 7_

  


When John flinches awake, there is a horn blaring and headlights coming fast, straight for him. His instincts take over and he jerks the wheel to the right, swerving into the grass along the shoulder, tires spraying chunks of gravel and clanging like alarm bells under the fenders. He blinks and shudders, righting everything and glancing behind him in relief. Finally, he pulls one hand away from his death grip on the wheel to check the thermos for more coffee.

Completely out.

_He's driving in the dark. There isn't a soul around. Lights flicker at the head of a turn on the highway in front of him and he slows down, keeping an eye out for an accident or signs of a highway stop. The turn straightens and he's suddenly in a housing development. Smoke pours into the cab, thick and black, filling the windshield._

_Maybe he did hit someone. Maybe he's passed out or dead and he's killed an innocent family._  
 __  
He slams on the brakes, finding the shoulder and skidding along the curb. He stumbles out of the truck, shielding his face, coughing and wheezing his way onto the front lawn of a house where the air is clear. It's clear and bright. He pulls his hand away and squints up at an oak tree. Every branch, every inch of the huge canopy, is on fire.

It isn't burning up. The wood is popping and whistling and shrieking, but nothing is choking with embers or falling away, not even the leaves.

John drops to the ground and stares up from underneath the blaze. What the hell. __

 __Take care, _says a voice in the tree._ You will still burn.

 _There is no smoke, but he can't breathe enough to speak._ I must be dreaming.  
I must be dead. __

 __Go home, _says the voice._

 _He gasps and raises his voice above the snaps and creaks and groans._ I can't. We don't have a home. My sons are all I have. __

 __Go home, _says the voice._

Please, _he cries._ You don't understand.

They are home, _says the voice._ Your sons have followed a dream and they have seen him. They are coming. Tell them to hide.

_The blaze flares into the sky and snaps like lightning._

I don't know what you mean!

You do, _says the voice._ Follow the road.

Who are you?!

_The tree says nothing._

He blinks and he is still driving. The mile marker along Highway 70 is nineteen miles higher than the last time he noticed it and it's pouring down rain. John flips open his phone. It's 10:41 pm Eastern. Dean might be asleep, but it doesn't matter. They need to be on the road. Now. John thinks through all the hunts he could give them, picks the safest and sends coordinates for them to follow, because anywhere is better than Lawrence: 42, -89. Rockford, Illinois.

He calls Jim and tells him what he saw. Jim knows an expert out in California. An exorcist, he says. They have a few weeks at best, if the demon is coming. Maybe less. He tells John he'll need backup on something this big if he really means to go after it and send it back to Hell, once and for all. 

_Jim_ , he says, _this is my boys we're talking about._

After a moment's silence, Jim says, _Of course. I'll do it._

He remembers the last time he tried something this desperate, this crazy. It takes forever to fall asleep that night.

He calls Bill Harvelle. _Sure thing. I'll be like a second pair of eyes in your own head. Been itching for a hunt,_ Bill says _. What's on the menu?_ He is going to end it. 

At the trap, he stares in horror as his best friend is mauled telekinetically by a possessed exorcist and there will never be enough ammo in the world to kill that irony. _I'm sorry,_ John says, and Bill sputters, _Do it, You tell 'em I love 'em, and you shoot me. You shoot me in the heart, John._ John does. But when he raises his gun, he's looking down the end of it.

He wakes up, rises and stumbles to the sink to splash water on his face. It's been almost fifteen years.

_Mary, I don't think angels are watching over us anymore._

This time doesn't go quite so badly, but it isn't good either. The thing taunts him about Mary, something she did, about Sam and how Sam's life is a big joke waiting for the punch line. It's bigger than they ever imagined and Jim says it's powerful beyond anything he's ever seen. John tells Jim to get out before they call his number and he will see him again soon. Jim does.

He calls Dean to warn him, to give him something to keep Sam occupied, to keep them safe, keep them together. He runs through the list of victims' names in his mind as the phone rings.

A barely audible voice croaks on the other end of the line, _Hullo._

 __He almost can't believe it. _Sam, is that you?_

_Dad? Are you hurt?_

_I'm fine._

_We've been looking for you everywhere. We didn't know where you were, if you were okay._

_Sammy, I'm alright. What about you and Dean?_

_We're fine._

John can breathe again, Sam is losing it, and he can hear Dean's voice somewhere close, scared and asking if it's Dad. This isn't safe. He needs to get off the phone. They could be listening. No more locations, not for anybody.

_Look, I know this is hard for you to understand, but you're gonna have to trust me on this._

_You're after it, aren't you? The thing that killed Mom?_

_Yeah. It's a demon, Sam._

_A demon? You know for sure?_

_I do. Listen, Sammy, I uh... I also know what happened to your girlfriend. I'm so sorry. I would have done anything to protect you from that._

_You know where it is?_

John nods. _You've gotta stop looking for me._

_No._


	6. Chapter 6

IV.

  
_And when he had opened the third seal, I heard the third beast say, Come and see. And I beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand. And I heard a voice in the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see thou hurt not the oil and the wine._ _8_ His name was Famine. __  


Sloth.  


  


He bolts upright in bed, drenched with sweat and panting. Slices of the dream begin to fade away like shards of glass, some melting away, some pulverized like thousands of grains of sand. He blinks hard and gets up, lights his desk and writes until early dawn.

The next morning is chilly and he shrugs into the jacket his father gave him to keep warm as he goes about his business, planning the day and preparing meetings with his father's business partners. At midday, he goes out in search of his brothers and finds them in the fields, napping on the ground in the sun's rays with hayseed in their mouths and the animals grazing around them. __

_What are you doing out here, Joseph. Why don't you go back to your abacus and leave us to the real work._

_You don't know what you're doing,_ Joseph replies softly.

_Of course we do, Joseph._

_Well then, that's worse. Now it has become something that you are._

_What in God's name are you talking about? Spit it out before we knock it out of you._

_You're all going to die,_ Joseph says around the tightness of his throat. _I saw it, in a dream. You all die and it will be my fault._

Reuben lifts himself from his place under the shade tree and tries to calm Joseph with a touch on his shoulder. _Youngest, we've listened to your dreams before, but you mustn't speak that way of your elders. This is our job._

Joseph pulls away. _Hate me all you want. But the only way I'll ever be able to save you is if you trust me._

All the brothers, all but Reuben, rise in anger from their cushions on the ground and pick up young Joseph. They carry him on their shoulders as he struggles and they shout, _All hail Joseph! We are going to bow down and put him in the ground._

Reuben watches as they beat him, hike Joseph high over their heads and throw him into a storage pit in the ground. To avoid suspicion, Reuben walks away with them to leave him there overnight, with a secret plan to go after him before sunrise. But his brothers beat him to it. They drag Joseph up from the pit, strip him of his clothing, and sell him to the first slave trader who happens by.

They soak Joseph's jacket in goat's blood and tell their father that he was attacked and eaten by a lion. Jacob mourns day and night on the ground near the fire in his tent; he pays no mind to the ashen dust clinging to his face or the holes that appear in his clothing.

Decades later, Jacob hears word that his son is alive. Joseph's dreams have earned him the trust of a king, and he has been made viceroy and given charge of an entire kingdom's resources. Joseph sends for his father to join him and escape the famine in their homeland, he sends for his brothers, he sends for their families; and they come.

They all arrive together and go in search of their salvation. At first sight of him, they fall in relief at his feet, clinging to the folds of his coat like moths.

  


_As there is Sloth, so there must be Diligence._  


  


_I’ve gotta find Dad._ It is the only thing he thinks about. That, and Jessica motionless in a lake of fire on the ceiling.

That, and the mother he never knew. That, and how he wants nothing more than to find and kill the thing that did it. That, and how Dad is the only clue; how he has to stay by his side, find and end this threat against their family, together, no matter what happens.

That, and how it all fades away when he sees Dean motionless in a lake of water on the floor.

 _And you found the kids in the basement?_ the cops says and nods, overlooking the fact that he has heard Sam give two different last names to two different people within the last five minutes. _Well, thank God you did._

 _We can’t work miracles,_ the doctor says, and just like that, Dean has traded his life for someone else, again.

Dean is always trading his life away: for Dad’s cause, for Sam’s freedom, but never for himself.

No more. Not on his watch. _What are you talking about? I’m not gonna leave you._

_Hey Dad, it’s Sam. Uh…dunno when you’ll get this but uhm… it’s Dean. He’s sick and uhhh… doctor said there’s nothin’ they can do. But uhhh… they don’t know the things we know, right? Ummm, so don’t worry, ‘cause I’m gonna do whatever it takes to get him better. Awright. Just wanted you to know._

Sam calls his father's friend, Joshua. Joshua doesn't know where his father is, but he knows someone who can help. Sam drives and Dean fakes sleep, clutching at his sides to hold himself together, leaning against the rain on the window.

Dean finds a new heart and Sam finds that _whatever it takes_ can sometimes be too much.

John gets Sam's message and calls Joshua. Joshua tells him that he sent his boys to a faith healer and that Dean will be just fine; it's in the interest of higher powers to use evil for good when the situation calls for it. John doesn't understand what he means, but he's gotten used to Joshua's strange observations.

Three days later, John gets a call from Caleb: _Joshua is dead, John, and you were the last person to talk to him. What the hell is going on?_


	7. Chapter 7

V.

  


_And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer._ _9_ His name was Pestilence.

  
_Envy._   


Rebekah has a dream: to have sons of her own and a peaceful life. She marries Isaac, who takes comfort in their life together after his mother's death and his father's recent passing. They receive all the bounty and blessings that Isaac's father, Abraham, had promised them: as much as they could dream. 

They have two sons.

She brushes her fingertips through her young son’s hair, playing fondly at the curled edges. It’s cool inside their tent under the shade of the tree, and she hums to herself as she hands him a piece of fruit to eat. Outside in the field, she can make out the silhouettes of her husband and their son Esau in the field, the images shimmering in the heat of the desert.

Jacob’s young eyes follow hers, sharp as ever when he looks up from his reading. They mimic his mother's and narrow slightly at the sight of his father and his brother, heading in from the field and no doubt trading stories of their hunts and smelling of sheep.

_Don't worry, Jacob. Theirs is not a life suited for you. And you will not be like your Uncle Lot, digging in refuse for your knowledge. Your place is at my side, learning your books, not working as some brutish farmhand._

__Jacob looks up at his mother and hugs her neck, no real explanation needed. _It's alright, Mother. Father loves you, in his way. I love you, too._

She looks down at him and smiles. _You are my little angel_ , she says. Jacob may not be the firstborn, but he should have been. No matter. He is first in her heart, and her heart always finds a way.

Both boys grow up so quickly, limbs hearty and golden from the sun. Esau is deep-chested, cocky and uncouth. Jacob is tall and lithe, boyish and sharp-witted. They tease each other endlessly with mind games and tests of strength. Jacob is still her favorite.

One evening, Esau barrels into Jacob's tent, still covered in dust and grime and blood from the day's hunt.

 _Seriously?_ Jacob pounces. _You don't have a bed of your own? You have to eat on mine?_

 _Yours is cleaner,_ Esau retorts.

 _Not anymore._ Jacobreturns his attention to the pot of stew simmering over the fire. __

 __It is Esau's turn to pounce. _When you get married, are you still going to cook for me?_

_You're like one of those goats outside that just keeps eating and eating until they die._

__Esau remains stone faced. _Feed me._

_Not for all the gold in father's treasury._

_Oh, yes, you would._

_Actually, yes I would._ Jacob ladles out a heaping serving of the stew and offers the bowl to his brother. _That will be your entire inheritance._

 _Sure. I'll just need to call on my dad_ , and Esau takes it.

Their father is dying. It isn't shocking news. As Esau is fond of saying, Father really is older than the dirt. He can't see and he can't hear very well, but he still has an appetite for a good hunt. Esau has been his eyes and his legs and his bow for years. Tonight shouldn't be any different.

Esau is sitting in a thicket under a tree, waiting for his quarry to wander close enough. He raises his bow slowly. When he gets back, he'll ask their mother to cook it the way their father has always liked it and they will sit and eat and talk together, just like the old days, and his father will give him his blessing and say his goodbye. Esau aims for the heart and lets the arrow fly.

He goes to his father with the cooked meat still steaming inside the bowls. He spends so much time preparing and cooking that he has no more time to worry about dressing well. His father wouldn't mind him smelling like the fields anyway. He enters the tent and lays out the food, then searches out his father.

_Dad, I've brought you the meal you asked of me. You'll love it. Let's eat, and we can talk about whatever it is that you need me to do for you._

His father's brow furrows deeply and his mouth opens in surprise. _Who are you?_ his voice trembles.

Wow, the old man is further gone than he thought. _It's me, Dad. Esau. Your oldest son. Don't you recognize me?_

His father looks terrified and lurches up from the couch, blindly grabbing at his sleeves and arms. __

_Easy, Dad. What is it? What's wrong?_

The old man's eyes are pale and huge in the light of the fire. _Esau... who was it who came in just now, before you? I have eaten with him and drank his wine and blessed him instead of you! Is he not you? Were you not just here? He is blessed and not you! What have I done? What have I done?_

 __Esau blinks and stares, but he does not pull away, settling his father again on the couch, waiting for his breathing to quiet. _No, Dad, it wasn't me. It's alright. It will be alright._

_Oh, my son, what am I supposed to do?_

__He puts his hand on his father's shoulder to calm him. _It's alright, Father. You can still bless me, too._

 __But Isaac shakes his head vehemently, tears and hurt in his eyes. _No, I cannot. I cannot take away a blessing and I have given him everything that was yours. My son. My... Jacob._

 __Esau rises, blind with rage, and backs away, tripping over the hot food in the bowls, making a mess and not caring. __

_Jacob!_

__He races through the tents, searching for his brother's guilty face, tearing up the flaps and scaring the children. _Where is he? So help me, God, I'm gonna kill him. This is not one of your games, little brother! You've gone too far! This ends now and it's gonna end bloody for you or all of us!_

 __Inside a tent on the far side of camp, their mother cloaks Jacob in his darkest clothing and readies him and his companions for the trip to her brother's. _Go quickly my son and do not stop. He cannot find you. You will be like a ghost under the cover of darkness._

 __Her son returns a beleaguered half-smile. _You should have more faith in him, Mom. He's a hunter. He will find me if he really wants to._

 _He will not._ She shakes her head and adjusts the clasp on the hood of his coat. _If his anger rises against you, let the curse of it be upon me. Now go._

 __Jacob is gone for twenty years.

Esau flourishes despite the blessing lost by his father and protects it all with a well-trained army of four hundred men.

One day, two strange men come to tell him that Jacob is returning to see him. He laughs at his brother's bravado. _Fool. He thinks that he can come here without expecting me to flay his skin from his body? Tell him I'll meet him halfway._

 __When he goes to meet Jacob, he rides at the front of his army. They are met by goats. _Nice one, Jacob. Very funny._ The goats become a huge flock of sheep and then herds of cattle, almost as far as he can see. He catches sight of Jacob, walking with a staff, like he's some kind of sheep herder. His brother is limping badly and seems to be in so much pain that his face is fixed in a permanent grimace. Before Esau reaches him, Jacob stumbles to the ground, then rises slowly. Esau walks faster. Jacob keeps falling over and every time he does, it takes him longer to recover. When he is within distance of an arrow, Jacob falls again and it strikes Esau like a cold blade: his brother had been kneeling, quite ungracefully, but kneeling. __

 _Brother,_ Jacob says and starts to get up, but Esau wrenches his hands into the folds of Jacob's clothes and hauls him up until they are face to face. __

 __Then he hugs him. __

 __Tears stinging his eyes, Esau pulls away first. _What is this herd of dirty animals you greet me with? And where have you been all my life? And what happened to your legs?_

 __There are tears glazing Jacob's eyes as well, and he blinks and nods as he answers. _I wrestled with God and won. I also had eleven sons. I'm not sure which of those best explains the limp. The men I sent to say that I was coming are two angel friends of mine, Oh and these?_ He waved a hand at the throng of animals. _Well, these are just a little gift..._

Esau shakes his head. _Always one for tall tales, weren't you?_

 __And then they go home.

  
_As there is Envy, so there must be Kindness._   


  


He is surrounded by animal parts. John adds the latest box that Bobby has made onto the shelf and wipes the dust from his hands. One more temptation is under lock and key, safe from the hands of unconscionable neophytes like Bela, who'd trade her own grandmother for a steak dinner. Of all people, she should know that you can't bargain for life with a dealer of death and expect to win.

At least, that's what he told Bobby a few days ago when he was cleaning him out again. There's no amount of money that makes deals like that okay in his book. Bobby can run him off for ruining his livelihood all he wants. There's always the salvage yard, and there's always more where this stuff came from. Still, it's worth it. Bobby will thank him someday.

He re-salts everything, checks the traps and sets up the rifles. It's going to be an eighteen hour drive back to Kate's and another ten hours to Manning. If he drives overnight, he can cut over in Chicago and maybe check on the boys' work in Rockford and Fort Douglas before he sees Adam.

He owes that boy one more visit before all of this goes down. He knows that he's not going to live through it, but he has to keep his sons safe, and the only way he can keep them out of harm's way is to make sure they are nowhere around when it finally catches up to him. 

He calls Caleb. _Hey. Did it pan out? The information I sent you?_

_Yeah, outside Tucson?_

_Were they alive?_

_No. No, they weren't._

_Damn it. What about the baby?_

_Kid's already in CPS somewhere. He'll get lost in the system and we'll hunt him down when he's old enough to have paper._

_We're doing nothing of the kind._

_Relax, John. I meant we'll find him._

John looks in the rearview mirror at the tail lights passing him in the dark. _If we make it that long._

_Yeah. The color of optimism, as always._

_I'm headed out to check on the boys. Look into that other lead with the big one?_

_Yeah._

_Keep the flags flying, fleabag._

_Later, freak._

Within a couple of hours, Caleb calls back. _John? Uh, yeah, about Chicago..._

John floors it.


	8. Chapter 8

  
VI.

_And when he had opened the second seal, I heard the second beast say, Come and see. And there went out another horse that was red: and power was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was given unto him a great sword._ _10_ His name was War.

  
_Wrath._   


From his perch at the door of the tent the uneven heat lashes at the horizon, turning solid men, women, and livestock into shimmering water. This is his land and his people. His blessings are bountiful, but the oaks of Mamre provide little relief at midday.

Abram takes solace in the knowledge that his old bones are not needed for tending a flock or carting home grain sacks.  Instead, his eyes sink shut in the weight of the afternoon and he dreams.

Three men take shape in the distance. Colored orbs of yellow, blue, and green merge until they fill his vision and his heart with fear.

Abram opens his eyes and he can still see them. They never veer from their path, nor do they seem to wilt under the sun. They are real. From his dream, he knows who they are. He stands as quickly as his body will allow and gathers the household to prepare a meal.

_Your generosity will be rewarded,_ says the third man after they have washed and eaten and rested under the limbs of the trees. _I will give your wife a son._

Laughter comes from within the tent, and the stranger looks amused. _Tell your wife,_ says the stranger, _that I will have the last laugh._

_Bless you,_ Abram addresses him with prayerful hands and low eyes, _but, I already have a son. His name is Ishmael. He will serve you as I do._

_Ishmael will be a great nation someday,_ the man agrees. Then he leans forward earnestly, _but_ your _son will be the keeper of the promise._

_I know I should not question you, how can this be?_ Abram asks.

Scanning his surroundings, the stranger picks up another piece of bread and breaks it in half. One large piece goes into his mouth and around the dry crumbs, he says, _Hagar is a good woman, but you took Sari for a wife. This is not without intervention or good reason. The bloodline must continue at all costs._

_You chose her? I don't understand._

_You don't need to._

__Abram nods. _What about my oldest son?_

__The second man lifts his head and breaks his silence. _He will be mighty and have twelve mighty sons. His hands will defeat all comers. His wanderings will be by choice. But he will not love your son._

__The first man takes a pinch of salt and pours it on a lemon slice, then sucks it until only the pith remains. _Your son will also be mighty and have twelve mighty sons, and their wanderings will also be by choice. But their victories will equal their defeats. No love will be spared for those chosen in this way._

__The third man nods and points at Abram. _What is more, you are the father. You will decide the future for them both. When he is older, if you cannot spare him, you will kill him._

_I am an old man. This is such a burden to place upon me and my son and a child who is not even born._ Abram's limbs press close to his sides and he rocks to contain his sadness. __

_You have no idea._ The third man dusts his hands together and rises. His neighbors do the same. __

__The three men look at each other with questions in their eyes _,_ and the third man turns again to him. _Abram,_ he says, _we take our leave now. Your meal has given us the strength to complete our next task._

_You are welcome,_ says the old man, _where will you go?_

__All three stare blankly through the trees and their voices begin to melt together in his ears. _We have heard a tale of two cities. We have come to destroy them._

_You cannot do that! Not you. You are supposed to protect us._ Abram hangs from the robes of the third man and pleads, _If there is only a handful of faithful people living there, will you spare it?_

__The third man looks down. _We will spare those who believe,_ he replies quietly _._

Abraham never sees them again. Within a year, Isaac is born.

  
_As there is Wrath, so there must be Patience._

John keeps dialing and dialing, but Caleb won't pick up the phone. His eyes are getting heavy and his back is numb from four days on the road, but nothing is going to stop him from getting to his boys. He wipes his hand over his face, imagining the damage a 2,000 year old demon could inflict on flesh and blood before he can make it to Chicago. If they're going after hearts, like Dean told Caleb, then they are striking fast and hard the only way that can still hurt him. There will be no point in revenge if his boys are already ... no, he won't say it.

A call finally gets through to the house. _Beth? Is everything okay there? Alright. Tell your daddy that I'm still eight hours out. You tell him to call me._

__Dean should have called by now. He can recognize when he and Sam are in a snake pit of trouble up to their eyeballs, and he knows when to call. Why hasn't he?

The drumming of his thumbs on the steering wheel is led by the pinches in his gut and he's starting to get on his own nerves, but the unknown is looming like an approaching thunderstorm, and he can't make it stop.

His cell phone rings.

_Dean._

_John, it's Caleb._

_Have you heard from Dean?_

_Nah, I haven't heard a whisper from either of them, but I found some guys up that way. They wanna help._

John shakes his head. _Tell them no. This isn't a hunt. It's too big. Anyone who goes in isn't gonna know what hit them._

_Well, we gotta do something, John. We' can't just stand here with our pants around our ankles!_

_I am doing something._ John's eyes shift through fields that change from cotton and beans to corn, all of it blurring after hours and hours. _He's behind this, Caleb. I can feel it. I'll make a trade if I have to. I'll do whatever it takes._

_John, you're talking crazy. We can't do this without you. You can't do this alone._

_I gotta do what's right, Caleb. I started this. It's all happening because of me. If I don't see them again,_ John stops to breathe, _you tell my boys I love them._

The voice on the other end of the line fades out as he drops his hand and stares at the road, _John! We're coming to back you up, man. Just tell us-_ John flips the phone shut and throws it out the window.

Somewhere off an Indiana highway, cars wash rain into the ditch of a cornfield. Headlights in the darkness strobe past the blinking caller ID of a cell phone half buried in the mud. [Dean calling...] It blinks and rings, blinks and rings, blinks and rings, and rolls to voicemail. __

__Somewhere in a downtown Chicago motel, two brothers get ready for the biggest hunt of their lives. A few exorcism rituals, some loaded guns and holy water and they should be ready to roll.

_You and me and Dad... I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again._

_Dean, we are a family. I'd do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before._

Dean blinks and swallows. _Could be._

__Sam nods. _I don't want them to be. I'm not gonna live this life forever. Dean, when this is all over, you're gonna have to let me go my own way._

__Dean clenches his teeth, but he lets it go. __

__At a truck stop on the crossroad of Interstate 65 and Highway 30, John stops for gas. He walks to the bank of payphones with a handful of change and dials into his voicemail. Sammy would be so proud of him, getting used to all of this newfangled technology. The first message is thirty minutes old. He closes his eyes and holds the receiver to his forehead in relief, letting Dean's voice wash over him. _We think we gotta serious lead on the thing that killed mom, so uh, this warehouse, it's 1435 West Erie. Dad, if you get this, get to Chicago as soon as you can._

_I'm coming, son. Just hold on._

He pulls up outside the warehouse just in time to hear some awful shrieking sounds and see a girl fly out of the seventh floor window. Dean and Sam's heads poke out a few seconds later safe and sound, and he closes his eyes and says an actual prayer of thanks. He heads to Danny's Inn where he knows a Hector Aframian has bought out a room for the week. He walks in silently and stands in the shadows, daring anything that's left out there to come and get him, but everything is as still as a grave.

The boys unlock the door. Sam looks so much older than the last time he saw him. It reminds him of himself twenty years ago, when fire and shadow shrouded him in anger and loss, and he vows to himself that one day Sam will suffer none of those things.

Dean hugs him tight and almost can't wait to say that he's sorry for sending them into a trap. Their father sent them straight into the eye of the storm, the one he's been trying to keep them out of all this time, and _Dean_ is apologizing to _him_.

Sam hesitates before looking at him, talking to him, even touching him. Their last fight was one to end all fights, and it breaks his heart that he can't be sorry for trying to keep him safe. He's only sorry that he failed. He waits for Sam to nod before reaching for him, holding him tight after so many years. There will never be enough time to convince them how they mean everything to him. __

 __The demons are trying so hard to stop him now that the legend must be true: Samuel Colt's gun will actually kill the demon that has taken away every good woman in Sam's life. No more detours or worrying about his boys being able to watch out for each other. He's going tonight to Manning Colorado, no matter how tired he is, and he's going to get Elkins to tell him where to find it one way or another. Victory is so close he can taste it.

For one second, he lets himself smile. It's one second too long.  
 _  
_Dean almost falls under the strain of carrying John down the stairs and out into the alley and their blood streaks the door and the walls as they stumble together to the car. He let his guard down and now his sons are beat to hell. He can barely look Dean in the eye.

Dean clenches his teeth, and he lets his dad go. For the first time, John hears Dean tell Sam _no_.  
  
 _Don't you understand?_ Dean says. _They're not gonna stop. They're gonna use us to get to him. Dad's vulnerable when he's with us. He ... he's stronger without us around._

 _Dad, no._ Sam's hand clamps hard on his shoulder and blood oozes from the welting claw marks. _After everything, after all the time we spent looking for you? Please,_ _I gotta be a part of this fight._

 __John grimaces and grabs at Sam's wrist, not wanting his son to let go, no matter how much it hurts. _Sammy this fight is just starting. And we're all gonna have a part to play. For now, you gotta trust me, son._

 __The hand on his shoulder squeezes so hard that John sees white sparks behind his eyes, but he sees more pain in his sons' faces. _Okay? You gotta let me go._

 __He drops his hand to show him how it's done. He lets Sam go. It's something he should have done this way, the right way, a long time ago.

Sam shifts and wills his hand away.

John has to move before his instincts kick in and he stays to take care of them, like he wants to, like he should. __

_Be careful, boys._


	9. Chapter 9

VII.

  
_And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death._ 11

_Greed._

It’s not that Cain doesn't love his brother, but he's not the easiest person to get along with. He doesn't want things to be strained between them, but there is no easy way to identify the feeling in his gut, deep down – this anger, this seething chill – that he gets whenever his father takes him for granted, encouraging and smiling at his brother instead.

He tries.

He does whatever their father tells him to do, no matter what it may cost. He feels worn out and beat up, like used goods, but he keeps going. He tries, but it never seems to be as pleasing as what his naive and eager brother does.

He’s older, stronger, smarter. He knows he must be prepared. He knows that everyone will leave them on their own sooner or later; then his brother will only have him to rely on, now that Father has brought death upon them all. It might be Father's fault, but it's their problem. If he can just find the way, he knows how to stop it. He can fix it and they can have their father forever. It's a good dream.

They are standing guard over a flock of sheep, protecting it from the other animals. It's something else they wouldn't have to do anymore if only he could go out and meet his destiny.

_I’m not like you. Sometimes I’ve got a mind of my own._

Abel grins good-naturedly. _You don't really hate me that much._

 _No._ Cain smiles and leans on his staff, rolling his weight into it, back hunching as it slowly buries itself in the ground. _I have this dream, Abel. I've had it over and over and over again. You're drowning in blood on the ground and I hear a voice that says that I might have to kill you in order to save you. But I do. I listen to the prayer in my head and the faith in my heart and I save all of you. And then I look up and I see that tree: the one at home, the place where Father always used to tell us about. That's where it all started. This has to mean something, right?_

_You think you could kill your own brother?_

_Of course not! I'm no monster. Abel, I'm telling you because you will understand. I have to do this. I have to find it. I have to finish what Father started. I've been chosen. I've been chosen to take us back, to take us home._ Cain grabs his brother's arm, his eyes bright with wishing that Abel will see it, too. _I believe it's real. For once, I have something I can do for him to love me as much as he loves you. I want to give him our God back. I can do this. I don't want to hurt you. I'm leaving and I want you to come with me. Please, Abel._

_That's not a good idea. Look, Cain, forget the tree. It's not what you think it is. And we are home. Mother and Father, they're here with us. The dream is alive as long as we're together._

_I don't believe that! I_ know _there's more to what we are meant to be, and I can't forget. It's what I was born to do. It's safe there. It's beautiful._

 _No, it isn't,_ Abel says. __

 _How would you know?_ Cain snaps. __

 _Dad said so. Trust me,_ Abel says.

_Give me one good reason._

__But all that Abel will say is, _I can't._

Years pass. Nothing ever changes. Nothing that Cain seems to try is ever good enough, right enough, worthy enough. His brother’s accomplishments are comparatively small, insignificant things and yet their father praises him more. Abel says that he loves their father, sure, but he does things without any sense of a higher purpose.

Cain doesn’t hate Abel when he tackles him to the ground and bashes his head in with a rock. He just wants what Abel has: he wants to be sure of something. He wants to feel real. He pounds full force into ragged skull and grinds the bones with the rock until the grass is running with blood. He doesn't hate his brother. He just wants his Father back.

He leaves with only the clothes on his back and the food in his satchel, and he travels to where he sees the tree every night in his dreams. He thinks that he finds the tree many times; his heart is always full of hope that this time, this will be the one and nothing he has suffered is in vain. But every time he extends his hand and touches it, the feeling isn't there. There is simple wood and sand beneath his feet. He hates the tree.

Trudging in the desert, he tries one last place, just to prove that it doesn't exist, that the dream was a lie.

He chooses the most beautiful tree in the most serene oasis he can find. This tree is the most magnificent of any he has ever laid eyes on. It can't possibly be real if this tree isn't it. Cain is feeble from hunger and weary with thirst and he thinks at last that it's time to let a good dream die. He leans his palm against the trunk and breathes roughly in the heat of the day.

 _It takes two, my child, to open the gate,_ whispers the Tree. _Where is your brother?_

  
_As there is Greed, so there must be Charity._   


Saturday evening service is over and the lights have been shut off for an hour or more. Only the candles of prayers are still lit,casting gleams of yellow and red. Orange splashes and rests in circles on the dim walls, dancing like water, like fire.

Jim walks among the patrons kneeling at the altar, laying a comforting hand on those praying for a sick wife, a job, or an untrustworthy teenager. He stops and offers to pray with each of them. It never matters if they refuse: the prayer has already been said. Jim lifts his head from embracing an old woman and he sees John's still form in the back of the church. John's head is bowed and he stands in a shadowed part of the aisle nearest the doors, alone.

He walks quietly, gauging the situation and choosing the pew on the other side of the aisle. He sits down without saying a word, facing the altar with his friend, and he offers a silent prayer. In his periphery, he can see John's hands shaking as they hold tightly to a rosary.

John's face is grim and he presses his fists hard into the long wooden pew in front of him, physically straining to reach an answer that must be here, somewhere, where Mary had always hoped it was. _I don't know... sometimes it's like I've lost already, you know? I've lost Sammy. I love him, but he's too young to understand. Dean wants so badly to get it right... and I know he feels the same way I do. I can see it in his face. He wants to believe. We both do. But I... I just want it to end. I dragged them into this with me and now they've got targets on their backs. The whole damned world is after two of my boys and what on earth am I doing to stop it?_

_You've accomplished more than most people could possibly dream, John. You've kept Adam safe. You've helped so many people. No matter what you do from now on, those people have lives because of you and Dean._

_There has to be a way._ John stares at the cross and the altar table and the pulpit. He looks at them as if they are all just powerless shapes, just tools, just means to an end that he doesn't recognize or understand and doesn't think he ever will.

 _I believe there is._ Jim's face tilts toward the front of the church, squinting thoughtfully. Flashes go off behind his eyes and it wrecks his thoughts. All he can see is blurry images, thoughts, shapes like trees and harnesses and blood. Spears of pain stab into the top of his head. He is accustomed to hiding the effects of a vision after all of these years, and only close friends can tell the difference. When he turns in the pew to face him, his eyes still alight with the aftershocks, John is watching him. __

_Perhaps what we are looking for isn't on earth at all._

_Then we really are screwed,_ John replies and smiles a little.

_I mean God, John._

_I know._

_No, I don't think you do,_ Jim replies, and then he tells John how to find God.

It isn't what people call good news.

A few days later, John is in a Wisconsin highway motel. He's on his way to Windom to say goodbye. It's only the hunter in him that finds something to kill at a time like this, but maybe it was meant to be.

Both of his hands are splayed out across his maps as he double-checks the locations: Fort Douglas, Ogdensville, and a half dozen other towns, all with dates about twenty years apart but none of them correlating to the 5-day forecasts or recent storms. It can't be what he's looking for, but there's only one other thing it could be. He buries his face in his hands. 

It could turn out to be what tried to kill Sam. If it is, and his own time is really running out like Jim said, then maybe it's the only real ending they'll get. Good enough. As much as he doesn't want to send them both back into this fight, maybe this is the best chance they've got. He wants them safe and happy with normal lives. He takes a deep breath and sends the coordinates to Dean: 42.958935,-89.473343. His son needs this one. He needs to know that his father trusts him to take it all on when he's gone.

Besides, if he's dreaming and they are going to have any chance in hell of protecting themselves after he's done his swan song, then they're going to need the training. They're going to have to know what's out there... it's the only thing he has to give them.

Dean drums on the steering wheel to the beat of Rock Bottom by UFO while Sam stews in the passenger seat. _Don't worry. I'm sure there's something in Fitchburg worth killing._

 _Yeah? What makes you so sure?_ Sam says. __

_Because I'm the oldest, which means I'm always right._

_No, it doesn't._

_Yeah, it totally does._


	10. Epilogue

Φ

  
_Don't die. They will feed you to the lions. They are worth more than we are. 12_   


  


The truck’s tires have been slashed, leaving him with no other exit.

The smell of wet pavement and burning rubber and gas follows him down the alleyway as he runs from Meg and her henchman. Darkness and refuse silences his footsteps until he reaches a streetlamp at a cross alley. He stops dead, his arms swaying out in front of him, tense and useless. Under the lamp stands a man he’s never seen before, but he knows who it is. He can see a bony smile, like that of an animal, gleaming in the cast of the man’s downturned face.

_Hello, John._

John stands up straight and says nothing, does nothing, tries to feel nothing. He waits for the other shoe to drop. _Azazel._

 _So they used to call me, but I've missed the last few high school reunions._ The man steps forward, black thoughts of mass destruction and vengeance won ghosting across his face like the shadows of taut puppet strings. _I’d say that I’m a mite disappointed in the end of our little game, but the truth is we’re just getting started_.

 _Are we?_ John retorts flatly.

The man lifts a pair of golden eyes into the light and jerks his head backwards once. Two pairs of brutish hands grip John’s shoulders on either side and wrench hard, shoving him onto his knees.

John doesn’t struggle, not even in token protest. He looks up with a secret buried in his eyes.

 _You’re not a very good actor, you know. Not like young Sammy. You’re not fooling anyone._ Azazel draws a serrated knife from the folds of his coat and holds it against the throbbing vein in John’s throat. _You are going to tell me where that gun is._

Swallowing defiantly, John’s sweat drips onto the blade. _No, I’m not_.

The man’s eyes close slowly and he listens to the heartbeat of his quarry. He smiles again, scraping the knife’s edge across and up, slitting the skin enough to make John hiss. _I’m only trying to be polite. I don’t have to ask, but I'm a traditionalist._

_Good to know._

_Some habits die hard._ The man’s face tries to smile but ends up jerking and twitching, a failed reflex at best. _I could get it out of you the old-fashioned way, but Herb and I just bought these shoes._

_We can do this all day. I’m not telling you a damn thing._

Azazel illustrates a thought bubble in the air with the point of the knife, waving it back and forth in front of John's eyes, _You might not, but I know some boys who might. I believe you've met them._

A deep breath escapes before he can stop it, but John keeps most of the fire out of his eyes. _I’ll kill you. You lay one finger on them and I’ll kill you. I will kill all of you._

 _Tsk, tsk, fathers condoning such violence._ Azazel brings the man's face to within kissing distance and John holds his breath at the man’s smell: lungs full of smoke and rotting meat, voice dripping with desires that nobody should have to think about _. Those boys... I could be a better father to those boys than you ever were._

John struggles. _You can go to hell._

Azazel’s lurid smile backs away, just enough for his hands to start measuring him at the shoulders and down, squeezing at his groin and frowning like it’s a downgrade. _Ah, but I’m at the bottom of the Cracker Jack box, John. I’m not leaving without my prize._

Johns spits in his face. _You won’t break me. You know that as well as I do. And if I don’t kill you, they will._

A bent elbow slams down on the crown of his head and John sees stars. Another pair of blows land across either side of his jaw. Azazel flexes his hand as John wheels between blacking out and breathing again. _Thank you, John. That’s all I needed to know. Now, was that so hard?_

He coughs and spits up blood. It drains down his throat and clings to his nose. _Doesn’t matter. Kill me. If they come for me and I'm gone…_ he lifts his face one last time… _they'll know, and they’ll end you._

 _Oh, but they won’t know it’s me_ , Azazel whispers. He does a cage dance turn on one foot with a shining grin, and he winks.

John blinks and stares into the darkness as they grab his head and hold it in place. _Wait and see._

  


_And he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse. 13_  


  


John dreams. Inside the demon's hold, the world is not the same as the world of the living. He is standing on a hill under a twisted tree with limbs made of sinew and bone. He knows it because he's seen it in his nightmares.

He looks across a barren, smoking field and knows he is alone. That can only mean one thing: that his sons are not here with him. Good.

He sets out across the plain, hounded by the demon's voice floating across the burning wind, stinging his eyes. _Don't worry about them_ , he says, and the whole sky turns yellow, eyes staring down at John from the high reaches of his soul, _Worry about me_.

It turns out that Azazel isn't as strong as he thought. John surfaces time and time again. He forces the demons to beat him, drug him and tie him down, using his humanity against him after sheer will prevails.

By the time he hears Dean call his name, Azazel is brimming with triumph and pride. Cocky. Careless.

 _Dad, please. Don't you let it kill me._

The blood of his son breaks the bonds of the dream, and John rallies for one last push. He makes it count.

  


_But suppose this son has a son who sees all the sins his father commits, and though he sees them, he does not do such things? 14_

  


_fin._


	11. Mirror

UNBREAKABLE

A STORY ABOUT FAMILY

13,273 Words | PG-13 for violence | Written by Blacklid and Tahirire

  


image from [Supernatural: Origins](http://www.amazon.com/Supernatural-Origins-Peter-Johnson/dp/140121701X) graphic novel

**Authors' Notes:**  
The story germinated around the middle of season four. Along with Tahirire's [Repo Men](http://tahirire.livejournal.com/251876.html), it is in response to the prompt, "take a season and perform a gleeful pretzelification of canon." Beginning in July of 2009, when season five started shooting, we wrote the historical half. I wasn't sure what it had to do with the Winchesters until I was staring at it one night and finally realized that it was a story about John. The summer 2010 season five hiatus was spent fleshing out John's half. A second epiphany hit me when I saw that the story had become an infinite loop. John's half goes forward in time while the historical half mirrors it going in reverse. All on its own, it had culminated in the overall truth of the story itself: that _it is never over._ As hard as we both worked on it, it is still one of those stories that you look back at later and say that it wrote itself. 

The whole story is compliant and integrated with canon from the television episodes, John's Journal and the graphic novels. I'm not sure about the tie-in novels because I haven't read them all.

The soundtrack while I wrote down John's half was Linkin Park's _A Thousand Suns_.

I can't thank Tahirire enough for her contributions to the historical half; the poetry of Africa and the Colts is all her. Most people will recognize the Genesis stories being derived from the King James. What they might not know is--

the story about The Ghost and The Darkness is based on real events,  
[Ghosts of Tsavo: Tracking the Mythic Lions of East Africa](http://www.amazon.com/Ghosts-Tsavo-Tracking-Mythic-Africa/dp/0792263626), by Phillip Caputo

and the story about John and Samuel Colt is also based on real events.  
[Fire at the Tombs](http://www.mcny.org/museum-collections/painting-new-york/pttcat13.htm), Museum of the City of New York  
[Everything is Changed](http://query.nytimes.com/mem/archive-free/pdf?_r=2&res=9C0CE7DE1738E533A25755C1A9639C94679FD7CF), New York Times, May 16, 1886  
[John Colt Trial: 1842](http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1G2-3498200057.html), by Tom Smith  
[Melville, The Colt-Adams Murder, and "Bartleby"](http://web.ku.edu/~zeke/bartleby/Giddings.html), by T.H. Giddings

This is dedicated to a whole host of inspirational people, including:  
themonkeytwin, Ben Edlund, mimblexwimble, feliciakw, windscryer, Jeremy Carver, Raelle Tucker, erinrua, Sera Gamble, Peter Johnson, missyjack, Eric Kripke, blackcat333_99, Troy Duffy, Daniel Knauf, William Ernest Henley, datenshiblue, samidha, and Robert Singer; also Louis Carroll, John Barrie, and Joseph Campbell.

In its deepest heart, this is for all of the characters who make this story true ... and especially for the people who bring them to life.

**Footnotes:**

1 _The Life of Charles Marshall_. Evans, William and Evans, Thomas, eds. 1840, Vol. IV, pages 137-138.  
2 _The Walrus and the Carpenter, Through the Looking-Glass_ , by Lewis Carroll.  
3 Dean and Reverend Roy La Grange, Supernatural season 1, episode 12, _Faith_ , by Raelle Tucker and Sera Gamble.  
4 Matthew 6:10  
5 Gabriel, in Supernatural season 5, episode 8, _Changing Channels_ , by Jeremy Carver.  
6 Sam and the Woman in White, Supernatural season 1, episode 1, _The Pilot_ , by Eric Kripke.  
7 _Invictus_ , by William Ernest Henley  
8 Revelation 6:5-6  
9 Revelation 6:2  
10 Revelation 6:3-4  
11 Revelation 6:7-8  
12 Juba, _Gladiator_ , by David Franzoni  
13 Malachi 4:6  
14 Ezekiel 18:14

 

 


End file.
